


Under the Uncaring Sun

by Mz_Mallow



Series: Cockatrice [6]
Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, One Night Stands, Party, brief description of canon-typical physical child abuse, nu metal lyrics as dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mz_Mallow/pseuds/Mz_Mallow
Summary: It's been two and a half months since Lord Boxman was fired into the sun, and presumed dead. Concerned about Professor Venomous, the other villains coax him to a party. PV starts to process his grief and guilt, and to move on with the rest of his life.And then, of course, Lord Boxman comes back.
Relationships: Lord Boxman/Professor Venomous, Professor Venomous / OC
Series: Cockatrice [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1290218
Comments: 15
Kudos: 27





	1. Evil Cocktail Party

“Are you ready!?” Succulentus’ raspy call rattled the front door of Venomous’ house.

Venomous blinked to attention and lifted his head, a desultory vocal fry of dissatisfaction in his throat. If he’d been in his laboratory he wouldn’t have been able to hear Succulentus’ greeting at all. That would’ve given him plausible deniability: useful in any situation. But he hadn’t been able to muster the concentration for his most twiddly and risky work—not today, not any day for the last two and a half months—and so he was in his living room, again, staring morosely at his laptop.

He still might be able to get out of this situation—bogged down in lethargy, his mind raced through options the way a child races through a chest-high swimming pool. He couldn’t claim he wasn’t in the house at all—by now, with the way villains gossiped, everyone must know he had barely left the house at all lately. Not since the news had broken that Boxman Junior had been utterly destroyed by Plaza heroes; not since the Villains’ News Network announced that Lord Cowboy Darrell had taken leadership of Boxmore Factory; not since he had learned that Boxman had been fired into the sun. But if he stayed very still, that shriveled-up cactus might give up and leave him alone anyway. At least, Succulentus had stopped calling on the phone eventually, after Venomous had stopped picking it up, had stopped listening to his voicemails.

But as he sat still, breathing shallowly, he heard the scrabble of mitten-clad claws against the tile. As much as he’d toyed with techniques of manipulation and mind control against heroes, he had never developed a reliable way to compel Fink to do anything she didn’t want to do. He hissed through his teeth, but was powerless to do anything else besides follow her with his eyes as she raced to the front door on all fours and threw it open.

“Hi there, Fink!” The pitch of Succulentus’ voice changed as he lowered his volume and his chin to speak to her. Fink chortled; Venomous guessed, without turning to look, that Succulentus was ruffling her ears.

A high-pitched shouting echoed in through the open door, from the direction of the driveway. It was too far away to make out the words from the couch, but the source was obvious: Succulentus’ grandchildren were waiting in his car.

“Get up, get up! Well? Are you ready now for the villain party?” Succulentus said.

“Boss!” Fink shrieked and turned her head to look at him, voice full of delight like a carbonated drink is full of bubbles. “You didn’t tell me we were going to a party!”

“Everybody's going to the party. We’ll have a real good time,” Succulentus said.

Venomous grimaced and pulled himself out of the chair, feeling a twinge in his back muscles; days ago it had started as a knot of tension and had since become calcified through days of poor posture and fruitless attempts to work. He leaned around the corner of the couch, but didn’t leave the lowered central section of the room. Possibly facing Vormulax, Cosma… or worst of all, Billiam… was the last thing he wanted to do. “I’m afraid we weren’t planning on it…”

Succulentus cut him off, cheerfully. “Let’s hit the road. Time is a valuable thing.”

Venomous sighed through his nose and strengthened his resolve. Or leaned deeper into his inertia. He stood straighter and schooled his face into its familiar look of critical detachment. “Really sorry, Succulentus, that you came all this way. I’d like to come, but we can’t.”

“If you need a ride…” Succulentus’ voice became softer. “… if you need a friend… There’s a seat here alongside me.”

Venomous’ irritation ebbed; Succulentus’ care felt genuine. He had been at Billiam’s yacht party, the same as most of the people Venomous had been avoiding… maybe seeing some of them again wouldn’t be terrible? But just thinking about it stirred up the worst expectations he’d built during weeks of solitude. Succulentus hadn’t ever had much of a relationship with Boxman, business or personal. But what would be the reactions of those who had been Boxman’s formal rivals… and worse, bosses? More of the same scorn they’d always had for Boxman? Told-you-so smugness towards Venomous? Or… ugh, worse… pity? He didn’t want to have to deal with that.

“I’m just so busy…”

“Liar.” Fink’s eyes sparked. Then she turned away, and scampered out to the car. Succulentus raised one spiny eyebrow above the level of his dark glasses.

Damnit.

“Maybe you could take Fink with you? But I really can’t get away just now.” Venomous forced out a laugh, intending it to sound casual; failing.

Even obscured by his sunglasses, Succulentus’ gaze was obvious as it swept the house: from the abandoned take-out containers littering the coffee table, to the drift of leaves that had collected under a water-starved houseplant, to Venomous himself, whose clothes had clearly seen multiple days of use on their journey from clean-drawer to hamper.

“Don’t want to reach out, now do you?” He said, his voice going tender. “The little things give you away.”

Venomous gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to see anybody at the party, okay? And I doubt they want to see me.”

Succulentus whispered, voice now forceful, but soft enough to be audible to Venomous alone. “This shit’s gone way too far. All this time I’ve been waiting. You cannot grieve anymore. I’m taking you with me to this party!”

Fink looked back at him from the car then; looked at him with the crushing weight of two and a half months of sharing her home with his gloom, his inertia, his sloppily-bottled grief.

Venomous took a deep, bracing breath, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’d better… call everyone inside. This will take a few minutes.”

And so, a half-hour later, Venomous found himself showered, freshly shaved and dressed, and sitting shotgun in Succulentus’ car as the children bounced and sang in the back.

* * *

This time, the rotating event was being hosted by Lady Dentata, in her mountain hideaway. Pillars of stone rose from floor to ceiling here and there in the expansive common room, irregularly located so during late nights, drunker guests would sometimes bump into one and apologize before realizing it wasn’t another partygoer. The room opened onto a patio with a panoramic view of the countryside, the sun setting behind it so the peak’s shadow reached out like fingers towards heroes’ residences as evening came on… a clever feat of planning on the part of the evil real estate managers and architects, Venomous had noted last time he had been here.

The party was already in high swing when they arrived. Cantalop, Hon Dew, and Nappa were absorbed in a heated conversation; from the way Nappa waved his glass of cider to emphasize a point, he’d already had more than one top-off. Dogmun had apparently opened a small portal to an eldritch dimension and had retrieved a burning ember to make his drink fizz festively. Small Calf Demon was hiding behind the legs of his uncle, Big Bull Demon, peering at the adults with wide eyes. When Fink and Succulentus’ grandchildren entered, Small Calf Demon mooed in greeting; Fink shrieked in return, and the children ran to each other.

Lady Dentata greeted Succulentus and Venomous at the door with a brief kiss on each man’s cheek. She clasped Venomous’ hands briefly, the bangles she wore on either wrist making a faint clacking sound that he felt through his fingertips rather than hearing over the sound of conversation and music. She lingered for a moment, and murmured into his ear, “I’m glad you could make it.” Then she turned and beckoned to the children; they trailed after her duckling-like, knowing they were headed to a den full of games to keep them occupied while the grown-ups hobnobbed.

Venomous tugged at the cuff of his dress-shirt and scanned the room. A flash of gold caught his eye, and a bitter pang squeezed his chest. Billiam Milliam was the last person he wanted to see; he’d imagined his possible reactions the most often, the most bitterly. _So Boxman finally failed so spectacularly that he died? He had it coming. Good riddance._

But no, it was Cosma, in some of her flashiest costume jewelry. None of Billiam Milliam’s minions or bodyguards were to be seen either; that meant no Billiam Milliam. Good.

No. Not good. _Cosma._ As soon as the first shock had ebbed, a second, more painful tide of bile rose in his gut. She was head of the Boxmore board. For all he knew, she had been the one who had given the order to fire Boxman. She had murdered him.

In his imagination, Venomous saw himself striding across the room and… what? Shouting profanity? Delivering a hundred-slide Powerpoint presentation on all the ways the Boxmore board wasn’t worth shit? Punching her right in her perfectly-composed, carefree face?

No. Nothing.

He hadn’t done anything in response to losing Boxman. Nothing, except retreating into his same old patterns—seeking familiarity, seeking comfort, seeking routine.

He hadn’t done anything before Boxman’s firing that would have prevented it happening. And nothing would bring him back.

So why do anything now?

Venomous trudged towards the door, barely noticing where his feet were taking him. He wanted to drive far away—no, he’d arrived in Succulentus’ car, he was stuck here, dammit. At least he could step outside, get some fresh air, away from the person who bore primary responsibility for killing Boxman and all the others who probably didn’t even notice Boxman was gone.

He stopped—a hand touched his arm, so light as to be almost imperceptible, but it arrested him just the same. Vormulax was looking at him, her fanged mouth drawn down into a sympathetic frown, the facets of her compound eyes glittering.

“I’m so sorry,” she rasped.

“Little late for that now,” he said, and feeing the liquid-nitrogen-coldness of his words gave him some satisfaction.

Vormulax blinked slowly, accepting his condemnation. “I wish it could have been any other way. I asked them to give him another chance. So many, so many times.”

“Huh. Tried really hard, did you?” Venomous’ voice was as poisonous as any one of his creations.

Vormulax’s shoulders rose around her ears, and her voice gained a defensive tone. “It had been going on for years. He never changed at all. And then when Darrell said we should oust him—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Venomous shook her off and stalked off towards the door.

But her words had shaken something inside him. _He never changed at all._ How dare she blame Boxman for his own death—these Board members had no sense of responsibility. _Boxman had no sense of responsibility._ That wasn’t reason to kill someone. _To let someone be killed._ So Cosma hadn’t unilaterally decided to dispose of him. _Darrell._ That was impossible; Darrell was loyal, he loved his father. _His father tore his limbs off, broke his body into spare parts, molded him into a gun, an object to be used and discarded, as Venomous watched it happen and never spared a thought to where the parts had come from, laser-focused on destroying the Plaza heroes…_

Venomous was feeling the wind sting his eyes, staring out at the mountain vista, before he even realized he was outside.

So Darrell hadn’t just benefitted from the coup against Boxman. He had led the coup against Boxman.

A minion who had rebelled. The way the world worked. _The way the Code worked._ Venomous pushed that thought out his mind. The Board was responsible; that was what he’d believed, and that was what he needed to believe. It was harder to think most of the responsibility rested with Boxman’s own child. Worse to think Boxman was responsible for planting the seeds of his destruction himself, and that Venomous had encouraged him to act on his impulses instead of tending to his responsibilities. Worst of all to think that Boxman had been killed by an impersonal force that Venomous had believed was obsolete and gone. A force that Venomous had brought down on Boxman by encouraging him to stop fearing it… that he had brought down on Boxman by accepting his love, and by loving him back.

A hand on Venomous’ arm jolted him out of his racing thoughts once again; not Vormulax’s vaporous claws this time, but a hand with solid, warm flesh fingers.

It was Lady Dentata. In her other hand she held a champagne flute filled with cider.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked.

Venomous shook his head.

She handed him the glass, wordlessly.

Venomous took it and made himself smile in response, the corners of his mouth feeling stiff from disuse. The sweet acidity of the drink made his mouth ache, but it also shook him out of his speculation, and brought him fully into the present.

He looked down into the glass and managed to distill his thoughts into one statement. “I should have done something to save him.”

“If you could have, you would have,” she said simply.

They stood on the outcrop for several minutes more. Venomous sipped his cider.

Lady Dentata rubbed her hands along her bare arms. “Getting breezy. Should we go back inside?”

Venomous shook his head.

“A lot of people in there care about you, you know.”

He wasn’t feeling it. If Boxman were here, he would cause a riotous scene to show them all exactly how little he thought of them. But Boxman wasn’t here; only Venomous. And standing on this isolated mountainside, it felt like a better option to follow the hostess inside and quietly rejoin the group—even if that was simply the easier option.

To his surprise, he was approached almost as soon as he re-entered. The other villains—not as bullheaded in showing their friendship as Succulentus—had been giving him space and letting him set the tone of their interactions. Wat Mel offered brief, but genuine condolences, and asked after his laboratory and research. Miss Quantum told him that she had always been impressed with Boxman’s energy and initiative, even more so than she had appreciated his boxes; then she drew him into a warm conversation about Fink.

By the time he’d had several more conversations, and finished his glass of cider, Venomous was feeling more settled, more adaptive—but also slightly woozy. He hadn’t had much to eat that day; any more cider on an empty stomach and his head would be swimming.

The spread of refreshments was against a back wall, on a table carved directly from the stone. Small elegant cheeses and exotic fruits were thoughtfully separated from a catering tray of steel nuts and bolts. Foods favored by the fruit people in attendance were on a table across the room—those catered trays were artfully arranged, but nothing could fully disguise the fact that they were made of rotting organic material… and worse.

As Venomous perused a tray of canapés, he felt the sonorous grind of large gears beside him. A gigantic gauntlet reached across the table to a small bowl of screws, delicately transferred a few to a plate with a teaspoon. “Big Bull Demon is sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Venomous said. “I’m sure you miss him too. You had a lot of good times working with him, didn’t you?

For a few heartbeats, Big Bull Demon was silent, save for the slow bellow of his respiratory apparatus. When he did speak, his voice was muffled. “Boxman tease Big Bull Demon at yacht party. Blame rude noises on him. Bad for Big Bull Demon’s social anxiety. Talked about it whole therapy session.”

Venomous felt a queasy shock in the pit of his stomach. In a twisted way, he would have happier to receive Billiam Milliam or Cosma’s most withering hostility; Boxman had been their target so many times, it would have felt like an appropriate action _in memorium_. Instead, when he’d gotten respectful space and gentle condolences from most everyone at the party, he had begun to let himself relax. Respect was what he usually got from others; it was easy to feel that respect was simply what he deserved. Big Bull Demon’s guileless revelation of hurt was a gut-punch.

Big Bull Demon tilted his massive head to look at Venomous, and his eyes weren’t accusatory but tender. “Big Bull Demon sad that you are sad. From the bottom of heart.”

With an apologetic half-smile, Big Bull Demon balanced his plate of steel bits on the forearm of his drill-bit hand, used his fingered hand to clasp Venomous on the shoulder. Venomous accepted his gesture. The he turned away and drained his glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when I wrote "Adult Business", I wondered if it was in poor taste for me to create an OC name only for the sake of making a vagina dentata joke. So I decided to make Lady Dentata a full-fledged OC with agency. ^^
> 
> Lyrics quoted by Succulentus:  
> “Are you ready!? Get up, get up! Well, are you ready now for the…” – Disturbed, “Are you Ready”  
> “Everybody's going to the party… have a real good time.” – System of a Down, “B.Y.O.B.”  
> “Time is a valuable thing.” – Linkin Park, “In the End”  
> “If you need a friend… There’s a seat here alongside me.” Linkin Park, “Roads Untraveled”  
> “Don't wanna reach… do you?... The little things give you away.” Linkin Park, "The Little Things Give You Away"  
> “This shit’s gone way too far. All this time I’ve been waiting. … cannot grieve anymore.” – Korn, “Here to Stay”


	2. Late Night

Venomous closed his eyes, feeling the beat of the karaoke machine thrum through his body, feeling the warm vagueness of cider in his fingertips. Cosma had left the party early, and Vormulax had given him space, and he’d been able to let down his guard somewhat. He’d pushed thoughts of Darrell and The Code to a distant corner of his mind. He’d let himself be coaxed into singing a few tunes, familiar standards he could deliver without too much concentration. He had lost himself for a few moments; he had even had fun. Now he was tired, and the tension in his back had eased just enough for him to feel how much it had been aching.

Succulentus and Big Bull Demon were singing together: a hard rock ballad, sentimental enough that Big Bull Demon could carry the tune, metal enough that Succulentus could follow the words. Their deep, gruff voices combined surprisingly well in unison. Venomous let the melody wash over him, and it was halfway through the song before he started catching the words.

_I know it feels hopeless sometimes / But they’re never really gone as long as there's a memory in your mind._

Venomous stood discreetly, trying not to jostle Lady Dentata, who was seated next to him on the couch. She shot him a brief inquisitive look, then turned back to the singers. He walked to the window, looked out at the distant heroes’ town. In the night, the lights of homes and businesses sparkled like reflections on choppy water. Venomous thought of the buckets of glitter Boxman had gifted Fink. Most of them were still in his laboratory storage, while other were already used up, scattered and tread into the carpet so that he found more of it no matter how many time he cleaned.

_So now go do the best things in life / Take a bite of this world while you can / Make the most of the rest of your life / Make a ride of this world while you can._

Venomous rejoined the other villains on the couch; slouched there as the night wandered on, as the final song was sung, as the other villains started to make their good-byes.

Succulentus was in the armchair adjacent to him, sleeping slouched upright, his head tilted back and resting on the seatback. Lady Dentata was still sharing the couch with him.

Big Bull Demon walked through the room, surprisingly quiet on his metal hooves, holding Small Calf Demon asleep in his arms.

“How is Fink?” Venomous mouthed to him.

“Asleep,” he murmured back. “All kids deep sleeping. Big Bull Demon make sure they tucked in.” He shifted Small Calf Demon against his shoulder and left, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Cantalop, Hon Dew, and Nappa came by to make their good-byes, Hon Dew holding on to Catalop’s arm like a cucumber vine holds on to a trellis. After thanking Lady Dentata for hosting, Cantalop directed a wink at Venomous. “You enjoy yourselves.”

“And remember to use protection,” Hon Dew slurred. “Like a shark cage.”

Venomous picked up his head, blinking in offense. “Excuse me?”

Hon Dew snorted. “You know. If you don’t want to end up e _nduh_ … endowed like the rest of us.”

“Don’t be nasty,” Lady Dentata piped up, her words pointed but not angry. “And what are you even talking about? Everyone knows plants nut out the top of your heads.”

Hon Dew pursed his lips and glared from under a lopsided brow, and Nappa laughed. “She’s got you there. Come on, let’s get you to the car.”

Venomous waited, chewing over the conversation, until the plants had left and the room was deserted, save for Succulentus asleep and limp in the armchair.

“What was that all about?” Venomous demanded in an undertone. He knew perfectly well what they’d meant, but if they weren’t just seeing things dreamed up by their own drunken imaginations, he needed to hear it from her.

Lady Dentata leaned away on the couch, opening a physical space between them. She looked at him steadily. Her arms rested along the couch’s back and arm, her posture relaxed and unguarded. “I won’t say I haven’t thought about it.”

Oh. OH. She had been leaning up against him on the couch almost the whole night, hadn’t she?

He had known her for a long time, in an impersonal sort of way. The modern, bureaucratic byways of villainy required a guide for many, and she was an expert at drafting contracts, navigating red tape, and crafting diplomatic but airtight agreements. He didn’t hire her himself; villainous legalese (or lawlessness-ese) was a language he understood, and he was comfortable (if bored and fatigued) handling all of his own business affairs. Lord Boxman had worked with her briefly: Billiam Milliam had paid for her consulting services when the Boxmore Board was being established, loathe to do tedious work himself if he could pay someone else to do it. That was probably for the best—if drafting the contract had been solely up to Cosma and Billiam, Lord Boxman probably would have been screwed over by it even worse than he had been.

The “Dentata” of her name allegedly referred to the smiles of satisfied customers. Admittedly, she herself had a lovely smile that she displayed liberally after a filing a well-crafted contract or making a satisfying business arrangement. And “Lady Smirk” just wouldn’t have had the same ring. But, of course, rumor got around that the “Dentata” of her name referred to… a different set of teeth entirely. Venomous had joined in the lewd joking himself more than once. He didn’t feel too guilty about it; he knew that his own doubled equipment was the subject of gossip and jokes. He couldn’t really blame the rumor mill too much that knowledge of his double penises had gotten around—Venomous himself had gotten around.

No matter his past life, though, he wasn’t feeling it tonight. “I’m not ready for another relationship,” he said.

Her response was immediate and said with ease. “I’m not looking for one either. I’m glad to be unattached.” She looked away, her self-assured demeanor slipping momentarily. “But if you were interested in a one-time… I mean…”

“I’m not going to cheat on Boxman.” It wasn’t until she looked up in surprise that he thought about what he’d said, and began to realize that it might no longer apply.

“Boxman’s been gone for almost three months.” She never was one to mince words.

Venomous winced. “He could still come back. Nobody saw...” His voice faltered momentarily. “As long as nobody’s seen the body, you can never know for sure that someone is dead. People come back all the time.”

She paused for a moment before speaking, and the look she gave him was tender and deeply sad. “That rule is for heroes. Not for us.”

Something cracked inside Venomous. He took in one irregularly-timed breath, and then another, and then his throat was closing up, and then he was crying, silently. He felt Lady Dentata’s hand gently reach out, touch the back of his head, and he leaned in to rest his forehead against her collarbone.

After a couple of minutes he pulled away, feeling more like himself again. To his embarrassment, he saw a tearstain soaking down one side of her chest.

“Ugh. I’m sohrry,” he pulled out his handkerchief and attempted to swab at it, trying not to blush as his hand approached her breast.

She shrugged. “All my dresses are machine-washable. Don’t worry about it.”

Venomous wiped his own face with the handkerchief, folded it neatly, slowly, and put it in his pocket. He sat still for a moment, head inclined in thought. “It’s not that…” He sighed. “I’m flattered. You’ve been lovely. You are lovely. But I promised myself I wouldn’t… Not like this.” Despite the gap in the conversation, Lady Dentata caught his meaning immediately. There was no need to be coy at this point. He frowned. “I don’t want to jump anything when I’m drunk and sad.”

Lady Dentata inclined her head to show she understood. “It’s your choice.” She placed her hand lightly on his forearm. “I could help with the too drunk part, though. And if you want to talk about what you’re feeling… I would be willing to listen.”

Venomous considered her offer. He glanced at Succulentus: still out cold, and now snoring gently.

“Let’s not bother him,” Lady Dentata whispered, as she stood. “And if any of the children wake up, they’ll come out here and wake him first.” She took his hand lightly in hers and stood.

Venomous followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Succulentus quoted lyrics:
> 
> “I know it feels hopeless sometimes / But they’re never really gone as long as there's a memory in your mind. […] So now go do the best things in life / Take a bite of this world while you can / Make the most of the rest of your life / Make a ride of this world while you can.”  
> \- Disturbed, “Hold on to Memories”


End file.
